


Hell or High Water

by CandyCanine



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, M/M, Oral Sex, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyCanine/pseuds/CandyCanine
Summary: When he discovers the LW has enslaved his buddy Flak and sold him to Paradise Falls, Shrapnel pulls out all the stops to get him back again.
Relationships: Flak/Shrapnel
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Flak couldn’t remember what had happened. One moment, he’d been on his way to bed through the silent ship at night after a last, quiet smoke on the flight deck, the next he was out in the middle of the fucking wasteland with a goddamn collar around his neck that was slowly beeping. 

Flak couldn’t remember what had happened, but he knew what was happening now: He was running for his life. He knew the collars, he knew how they worked, and he knew he had only a very short time left to live if he didn’t run. He also knew where he had to go, and even though a part of him asked himself why he bothered, why he didn’t stop and let it all end here and now, his body somehow made the decision for him and kept on running, clinging to life and an almost nonexistent sliver of hope that he might manage to escape somehow. 

Flak kept on running north and west through the night, focussing only on his own survival. A small part of his mind briefly wondered what his friend might make of his sudden disappearance, but he shoved that thought aside as a useless waste of energy. Shrapnel could do nothing for him, and whatever he might or might not think about this was of no consequence until he managed to get out of this alive.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time that Shrapnel went to bed with Flak still puttering on the flight deck or god knows where else on the ship. Flak liked to have a smoke in peace and quiet before bedtime while Shrapnel preferred just to hit the sack after their nightly beer in the rudder.  
And yet despite that, after having shared a table, bedroom and a business with Flak for so many years now he had gotten so used to the other man’s presence that his absence made the silence and the loneliness in the cabin almost impossible to bear. As usual, it took him a while to fall asleep like that.

It was, however, the first time he woke up alone with Flak’s bed still untouched. He had the habit of folding his blanket neatly on the foot end of his cot, and there it still lay from the morning before. A strange, unwelcome emotion hit Shrapnel, and he had to force himself to admit to himself it might be jealousy. Flak had spent the night elsewhere, without him, and it took Shrapnel a while to get rid of that feeling, resolutely stomping it down like an irritating bug. 

As the day wore on and Flak failed to show up Shrapnel began to wonder what his friend had been up to, but he still kept the stall open and running, telling himself to stop acting like a fucking mother hen and that Flak was pretty capable of looking after himself.

He asked the odd security officer if he had seen his friend, but the answer was always the same: Not since last night. As he went through his daily routine his mood constantly worsened, and brooding over his drink that night in the rudder Shrapnel tried to decide if he was more worried or more angry.

He was just about to leave when he noticed steps, the unsteady steps of someone into their drinks. It wasn’t his friend, though, the steps were far too light. He slowly lifted his head and saw, to his utter surprise, Mei Wong giving him a tipsy smile. “Mind if I take a seat?”  
“No.” He had to admit he was curious, he had never seen the shy, reserved woman do so much as smile, much less at him. He had the impression she was afraid of everyone and everything, but tonight, she seemed to be in a much lighter mood. She leaned forward, took a sip of her drink and giggled.   
It was only when Shrapnel finally met her eyes that he noticed she wasn’t drunk at all. Her eyes were full of fear as she forced another smile onto her face, and all his alarm bells went off instantly.  
“Why, baby, why didn’t you say so before?” He grinned broadly, speaking just loud enough for the people around them to hear what this was about, and got up. “No need to be so shy.”  
Mei Wong got up as well and Shrapnel draped an arm around her shoulders. “Let me give you a hand up the stairs, honey.”

No one looked twice at them as they ascended the stairs, and no one turned their head as they walked arm in arm across the lower deck, heading for her cabin. 

The second the door had closed behind them Shrapnel spun around and crossed his arms, but dropped them again when he noticed that Mei Wong wasn’t just afraid of something, she was absolutely terrified.

“What is it?”  
She was fighting for composure, but her voice still shook. “I’m sorry, Mr Shrapnel...” She took a deep breath. “I... I saw him last night. Your friend.”  
Shrapnel fought down his impatience and gestured at her to go on.   
“You see...” She swallowed heavily and nervously kneaded her fingers. “I like to go up on the flight deck at night when it’s dark and silent and no one’s around. Last night I heard voices, though, but just as I was about to go back inside I... I heard...” She shuddered again. “I recognized your friend’s voice, but it sounded all slurry, as if he was drugged. I was puzzled, because the other voice sounded quite clear although I couldn’t hear what was being said. They were on the catwalk below the deck, you see.”   
“Drugged?” Shrapnel felt more confused than ever. “That’s not possible.”  
“That’s what I thought, too”, Mei Wong went on. “That’s why I risked a look down, you know. I felt... I had the feeling something was wrong. And then I saw him, your friend, I mean, and he... he was running, heading for the drawbridge. But when he crossed it and I saw him clearly...” Mei Wong rubbed her neck and looked up at Shrapnel again, her eyes wide with fear. “I could have sworn he was wearing a metal collar around his neck.”

Shrapnel blinked in confusion. “A metal... wait... do you mean a slave collar?”  
“That’s what it looked like”, she gave back, her voice a hoarse whisper. “He’s been a slaver once, hasn’t he? What if they finally caught him?”  
Shrapnel stared open-mouthed at the woman in front of him and needed a couple of heartbeats before his brain started working again.  
“You saw him... with a slave collar... and you didn’t alarm the guards?” His voice must have carried more than confusion because Mei Wong suddenly cringed and took a step back.   
“Please, Mr Shrapnel...” She unconsciously touched her own neck, as if she remembered the collar she had once worn. “This isn’t everything. The other person I heard and saw... it was... it was that man from the Vault, you know... the one who...”  
“What!?” Shrapnel ran his hands through his hair. This kept getting worse and worse. “The Vault kid?”  
“He... Yes, but... I thought about alarming the guards, but you know what they all say about this guy, about what he did, and how he saved Megaton and all... The guards wouldn’t have believed me, and what if they had confronted him with my words and me? This man is...” She broke off and shuddered.  
And Shrapnel realised she had simply been too terrified to make a move. Afraid that she would be dragged back into slavery from which she had so narrowly escaped.

“I... It’s all right.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been a slave so it’s probably...” He broke off with an angry sigh. “Shit. The fuck am I gonna do now?” Then he looked up again and realised Mei Wong was still clutching her throat and was watching him with wide, anxious eyes. He sighed again. “Thanks for telling me. I realise... I know you’re afraid of them.” He tried to smile, but it lacked the desired effect. “Look.” He ran his hand through his hair again, but left it deliberately dishevelled. “We make this look real and no one will wonder why I’ve been here. That ruse is as good as any, or better even. No one’s going to think twice about it.” He tugged his shirt out of his pants, unbuttoned his vest and ruffled his clothes so they looked as if he had dressed himself carelessly and in haste. “I owe you one for letting me know, and I won’t let anything happen to you now.”  
Mei Wong finally lowered her hand and managed a timid, hesitant smile. “Thank you, Mr Shrapnel.”  
Shrapnel nodded absentmindedly at her and then shook his head. “The fuck am I gonna do now?”

He left again after giving her a pair of hickeys, a task neither of them enjoyed, and spent the rest of the night pacing restlessly around the empty, silent hull of the ship. By daybreak, his mind was finally made up.

* * *

Shrapnel didn’t waste any time asking around on the ship for help, he couldn’t imagine anyone would willingly join him in a suicide mission like this one. His chances of success were slim, to say the least; he needed to get into Paradise Falls, a city no one just entered as they pleased, he needed to find Flak or find out what happened to him and if it really were the slavers responsible for his disappearance, and if so, he needed to get him out. Since he couldn’t imagine that they’d willingly sell him to anyone that meant he would have to use force, and it was only him against a whole city full of them. 

It was in very grim determination that Shrapnel got his gear together, and he was ready to leave by mid-morning, equipped with a Chinese assault rifle, his sawed-off shotgun as a backup, as much ammunition for both guns as he could scrape together, a belt full of grenades and a pack full of everything Cindy had been willing to part with. The thought of having to use that shit made his hair stand on edge; even years after having left that part of his past behind he still remembered the effects of those drugs and worse, their withdrawal symptoms. But with his chances that slim, he needed all the help he could get and those drugs could maybe provide him with the edge he needed. Most likely, they would only get him killed that much faster, but he’d be dammed if he gave his best friend up without a fight. As an afterthought, he also pocketed an elderly, silenced ten mil pistol and a handful of ammo, stuffing the gun into his vest before lighting up another smoke.

Since living in a confined space like the ship made keeping secrets somewhat difficult Shrapnel hadn’t even tried, so by the time he left the hangar most people there knew that Flak had disappeared and he was going to find him or die trying. He cast a last look over his shoulder at the ship after descending down the ramp and with a shrug, adjusted his pack and set off in a brisk pace, heading north and west.

It was late afternoon when Shrapnel had topped the last rise and Paradise Falls was finally in sight. So far he had managed to avoid confrontations; he hadn’t survived as a wasteland raider that long for nothing. 

Heading for the entrance he lit himself another smoke, and as expected, the guards at the gate were giving him a handful of shit. He gave it right back, however, and after seizing him up again, they let him in at last. So he was finally there, was inside the walls, but he still had no real clue how to proceed.   
Take a look around, keep a low profile, try to gather information. Yet he knew he wasn’t a sly little snitch, and exhaling a long, heavy breath of smoke he wondered if he should’ve put more thought into this beforehand. 

A movement in the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he noticed the raised platform in the middle of town, occupied by an armed guy bearing a fucking minigun. Great. Shrapnel flicked his smoke away and pressed his lips together, trying to think of a way to breach the subject when behind him, steps crunched in the gravel and stopped a foot away from his back. He slowly turned around.

“Forty’s the name, I deal with the merchandise. Whatcha looking for?”  
The guy talking to him wore battered combat armour that had seen better days, a rifle slung across his back that was definitely not battered and well kept. His head was shaved bar a thin strip on the middle that was clipped short and his face was half hidden under shaggy sideburns. Everything about him seemed to beg Shrapnel for the tiniest excuse to re-decorate his bedroom with Shrapnel’s guts.  
Inspiration hit him in a moment of dire need. “Looking for a strong guy who does the lugging around for me without complaining.”  
“Them guys don’t come cheap.”  
Shrapnel had plundered all their funds and even sold a few handful of ammo to Holmes, all in all a sizeable sum. “I don’t want cheap, I want a solid peace of muscle to do the work.”  
“Come on.”

Fighting the urge of tapping his fingers against his thigh from nervousness, Shrapnel followed the guy over to the slave pens. About a dozen men were waiting there, all collared, all shaved and clad in hardly more than rags, and all of them empty-eyed and broken. Shrapnel had to suppress a sigh of relief when he discovered Flak wasn’t among them. “They don’t look very capable, to be honest. You got nothing with a bit more muscle?”  
“The big one over there in the corner, what about him?”  
Shrapnel let his eyes wander up and down the man in question, then shook his head. “I need someone to do the really heavy hauling and lifting and shit. Those sorry fuckers are a waste of my money.”

Forty gave him a long, considering stare under lowered eyebrows that Shrapnel held with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Finally, the slaver shrugged and dug his hand inside his armour to produce a pack of smokes. “It’s all we got presently. Take it or leave it.”  
Shrapnel cocked an eyebrow at him but didn’t press the matter; instead, he lit himself a smoke as well and headed for the bar to order a drink. Idly sipping away at his beer he turned on the small barstool and leaned his back against the bar, surveying his surroundings. He could make out about a dozen people, all of them armed, and the terrain could work in any attacker’s favour if it wasn’t for the fucking guy with his fucking minigun on the platform. With a sigh he turned around again and mustered the slave working the bar. 

No one gave him any notice, and he inconspicuously reached into his pocket, dug out a generous handful of caps and shoved that hand flat across the counter. The slave noticed that hand, looked up at him and Shrapnel leaned forward onto his crossed arms, shoving the caps towards the edge of the counter. The slave pocketed them faster than he could look.

“If I was looking for someone specific”, he began. “Someone who I’m sure is being held here, how could I find out?”  
The slave polished a glass and shrugged. “If he’s not for sale, he isn’t broken yet, and they won’t sell him. You’d best wait a few days, maybe a week, and try again.”  
“He’s a friend of mine. I want to get him out of here.”  
“Good luck pal”, the slave snorted softly. “You’d have as much of a chance as a rat in a nest of fire ants.”  
“What if they wouldn’t mean to sell him? They might just want to settle a score...”  
“You got a death wish, mate? Then drop it, because I sure don’t have one.” The slave narrowed his eyes at him and swallowed. “Talk like this will cost me my balls if they hear it.”  
“Got you. I’ll tell you his name, and you tell me if he’s here.”  
Nodding, the slave reached for another glass.  
“Flak.”  
The other man looked up and shook his head. “Forget that name. Forget the man. Forget you ever met him, and don’t even ask me why. Don’t offer me more caps either ‘cause I won’t say a word more to you.”

Shrapnel set his empty beer down and nodded without looking up. He’d expected as much. With a sigh, he got up, shrugged his pack back on and popped another cigarette between his lips as he left.

Once the gate had closed behind him, he looked up at the sinking sun and closed his eyes. A lot of images cruised through his brain, memories of his friend, and a terrible vision of him sitting as emaciated, broken and castrated amongst the slaves in the pen. And with his thumbs hooked into his belt, Shrapnel took a deep another breath. He couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t leave his friend to his fate, come hell or high water. He would get him out or die trying. He stopped calculating his odds, measuring his chance of success, or thinking about some elaborate tactics. 

Fiddling with his lighter he slowly walked over to the guards at the entrance, cursing under his breath.  
“You got a lighter, man?”, he asked the one sitting at the desk.  
“Sure thing”, the slaver gave back and got up. As they leaned over the lighter and Shrapnel puffed his cheeks he reached into his vest, and with one smooth move pulled the silenced pistol out, pointed it at the slaver’s chin and pulled the trigger.  
Before the other man had collapsed Shrapnel spun around, even as the other slaver pulled his gun after realising what had just happened, and emptied the whole magazine into the other slaver’s face. The soft pops of the silenced gun were a stark contrast to the blood and the gore gushing out of the dying man’s head as the slaver toppled to the ground, and Shrapnel kicked the bodies aside, shrugged off his pack and stuffed the chems and stimpacks into various pockets. 

Entering Falls again he made straight for the shop, smoke still between his lips.  
“Hey man, what can I do for you?”  
Shrapnel pulled the pistol. “See, I have this pistol here, but it’s kind of shoddy. I was wondering if you could...”  
“Course. Lemme have a look.”  
“Sure.” Having reached the counter Shrapnel raised the gun, pointed it between the slaver’s eyes and before the other man quite realised what was happening, pulled the trigger twice. The man slowly fell over and folded to the floor, a surprised expression on his face and two dark red blotches growing on his forehead. Shrapnel tossed the pistol away and dug into his pockets as he headed for the door again. He had done what he could to prevent an attack from behind, now all he could do was go for it.

Years of experience with various drugs aided him now, and for a second, he allowed himself to be grateful for those. This was the point in his life where he could profit from all those memories he had desperately tried to leave behind, all those dreadful things he’d rather had forgotten completely. He could make use of them now. 

A hit of Jet. Feeling the tingle in his body, so strangely familiar even after all these years, he let his head drop back for a second. “Shit.”  
A deep breath to stop the grin spreading on his face. Buffout. He felt his muscles grow hot. Jesus, there would be one hell of a price to pay. If he survived this, that is. Not likely at this point.  
“Here’s to you, buddy.” A dose of Psycho. Thinking became very difficult, and the hardest part was still to come. He fiddled around with a packet or Mentats and managed to pop one of the pills into his mouth. He forced it down, and moments later the blurry mind and fuzzy vision were replaced by a painful, aching clarity. He’d be more than half dead once all this wore off.

He weighed a grenade in his right hand, his only chance of getting rid of the fucker with the minigun before he turned him into a pile of pulp with holes in. Another deep breath, and with his shotgun in the left and the grenade in his right hand, Shrapnel left the shop, every bone tingling, every nerve taut, every muscle burning. He spat out his smoke, went into a crouch and pulled the safety pin out of the grenade with his teeth. “Here we go. See you in hell buddy if I don’t make it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Casting grenades had never been one of his strong points, but despite the odds, the grenade landed right between the fucker’s feet and exploded a second later, sending a shower of shrapnel, blood and gore into the air as the heavy gun toppled uselessly over the edge of the platform to crash into the gravel below. 

His breathing hard and fast, Shrapnel remained where he was, in a crouch behind the wall, and swapped the shotgun for the rifle. And sure enough, seconds later two slavers came running, shouting, shooting, only to run right into his line of sight. A bullet hit him in the left calf and his instincts, honed by years of survival as a raider and aided by the chems, took over as the second man fell face down into the dirt. He reloaded with a fast, efficient move and jammed a stimpack into his left leg, ignoring the sting of pain as he rounded the corner.

With the element of surprise gone and the slavers rallying themselves Shrapnel got his share too as he emptied his round into the two men closest to him, and as he jumped back behind cover to reload, his fingers were slick with blood. He gritted his teeth, jabbed one stim into his arm, the other into his hip and staggered onto his feet again just as the next man fired at him around the edge of the wall. The bullet only grazed Shrapnel’s arm, the one he had just hit with a stimpack, and with his other hand he pulled the shotgun and aimed for the slaver’s head. He heard a scream as the man stumbled back out of sight, and he followed after a few deep breaths. His hair was sticking to his forehead and he wiped it back, oblivious of the blood he smeared across his face with that move. 

He tore one of the grenades off his belt and tossed it right into the group of slavers coming for him when they spotted him and dashed back behind cover, not without receiving another bullet into his leg and one right through his shoulder. The pain made his vision go red, he was hardly able to produce the stimpack he needed, and with the pain, the shock and the bloodloss, the Psycho slowly began taking over his mind. He heard himself growl like an animal as the next man came into view, and he fired without consciously aiming. The man collapsed, Shrapnel tossed the stimpack away and screaming like a madman, rounded the corner again, assault rifle in one hand and another grenade in the other.

When his senses returned he found himself kneeling beside a body, leaning over the face of a dead man. Dark skin, red suit, wide eyes and a cut throat, the blood still seeping away into the dirt below him. 

Shrapnel slowly lifted his head, and discovered his whole body was one fiery, aching pain. His left arm dangled uselessly down, the elbow shattered and blood dripping from his fingertips.   
As he tried to force himself onto his feet he noticed the eerie silence, and when he managed to turn his head, he realised that he was surrounded by dead bodies. The one behind him had his throat cut, too, and it was the guy with the sideburns and the combat armour. Shrapnel looked at his right hand still clutching his combat knife. How the fuck he had managed to kill the last two men with only a knife was a mystery to him. He couldn’t remember a fucking thing.

There was no chance of making his legs obey him, and first when he had a closer look did he notice that only part of the blood pooling under the body before him was his enemy’s. His right thigh was hardly more than torn black leather and crimson, bleeding flesh. Fumbling with trembling hands through his pockets he found he had only one stimpack left. With a shrug, he jabbed it into his thigh, he didn’t need a working left arm to get out of here and find his friend. He couldn’t suppress a heavy groan of pain when the stimpack took effect, and he felt his strength starting to run out. The effects of the drugs began to ebb off, and he needed to get to a halfway safe location before the effects wore off completely and left him completely helpless.

When the pain of the stimpack doing its work began to fade Shrapnel finally managed to force himself up onto his feet again, and swaying for a moment, he closed his eyes to fight the blackout threatening to take hold of him. When he opened them again to get his bearings, he realised that he was standing next to the bonfire the slavers had gathered round, in front of the building that was called ‘Eulogy’s Pad’. Shrapnel turned around again, brushing a few stray strands of wet hair from his forehead with the back of his right hand. Was he the boss? The guy with the red suit?

He shrugged and turned around again, heading for the slave pens now with heavy, tired steps. “Flak?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy, hardly recognisable to him. “Flak?”  
The slaves in the pen looked up at him with empty, hollow eyes, but one of them got up and walked over the gate. “Forty has the keys.”  
Shrapnel blinked a few times. “Forty?”  
“The guy with the sideburns and the combat armour.”  
“Oh.” He turned around. Then the word ‘keys’ reached a working part of his brain; he nodded and limped back to the corpse. After returning with a set of keys it took him a serious amount of trying, fumbling and cursing until the lock at the gate finally gave with a soft click. The door swung open and the slave pushed past him. Shrapnel exhaled softly as he watched him go and could hear the other slaves cautiously and hesitatingly begin to move. He watched them head for the gate, hesitating, disbelieving, almost afraid to move, but he was too spent to offer them any kind of encouragement. 

There was an unlocked door leading into the house, and opening it, Shrapnel had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the murky darkness. Only a few irradiated, mutated mushrooms spread a dim, sickly green light.  
“Someone here?”  
A rustle in the far corner of the building, and Shrapnel took a few steps into the room. He could make out the shapes of two or three people sitting in a huddle in a corner.  
“Flak?”  
A gasp. Someone got up. “What the...”  
“Flak?” He stumbled a few steps forward and could finally recognise the silhouette of a broad-shouldered, short-haired man wearing a leather vest.

“Fuck me and call me a doll.” Flak emitted a hoarse, disbelieving chuckle. “Shrap? Buddy, is that you?”  
“More or less.” The ground was softening under Shrapnel’s feet and began to sway. “I had a bit of a hard time getting here.”  
“How the fuck did you... was that you starting the fight we heard?”  
Shrapnel managed a chuckle. “Yeah, but I had... I had a little help.”  
“Help?” Flak sounded worried as he took a few steps forward, and now Shrapnel could see he had a collar around his neck. A tiny red lamp was glowing under his right ear.  
“Yeah... I’m so full of chems you could tap my blood and sell it”, Shrapnel gave back. “But I...”

The door opened again, and before Shrapnel had time to turn around a shot fell. He dimly recognised the sound as a combat shotgun before his torso exploded in a pain so violent that he couldn’t even scream. He slowly toppled to his knees and tried to breathe, but the air was cleanly knocked out of him and the pain was so intense he had no chance of getting it back. His vision swam and turned grey at the edges.

“Asshole.” The voice behind him sounded faintly familiar. “I had a really good business going here, and you ruined it. And on top of everything, you killed my girl.” It was the Vault kid, and ironically, the combat shotgun he had in his hand was the one Flak and Shrapnel had sold him a few weeks ago.  
Shrapnel couldn’t even lift his head to look at him as the boy stepped past him and pointed the gun at Flak. “I’ll make you pay for that, fuckers. For her. Say your last prayer.”

Somewhere, somehow, Shrapnel found a last bit of strength in him at the thought of Flak being shot before his eyes, after all he had gone through, after he had gotten this far, and he managed to lift his head after all. Flak was staring at the kid, his face a calm mask that didn’t let on what he was thinking, but when Shrapnel slowly looked up, there was a flicker in his eyes. He had seen the movement. And Shrapnel discovered he was still clutching his combat knife. He lifted his arm, the pain making his move clumsy and slow, but the kid wasn’t even wearing armour, only one of those flimsy charmer outfits that were supposed to look sexy. Shrapnel managed to squeeze a little air into his lungs and lifted the knife. There was still something of the drugs left in him, and together with the fury he felt he could summon enough strength to lash out with the knife and hamstring the guy.

The Vault kid toppled to his knees with a scream, and Flak, who had watched Shrapnel’s every move, reacted with the skill and speed honed by years of surviving as a wasteland merc, caught the kid’s gun and blew his head clean off with a single shot. Then he dropped the gun, stepped over the twitching body and fell to his knees beside his friend just in time to catch him in his arms to stop him from hitting the ground.

“Shrap?”  
Shrapnel couldn’t open his eyes anymore. The pain in his torso began to vanish, the heat of the drugs and the anger turned into a slowly spreading coldness in his limbs. His time was up.  
“Flak.” His voice was a dry rasp. “Buddy...”  
“I got you, buddy. Hold on. Red!”  
It was too late, and Shrapnel knew it. There was only one last thing he wanted to do know, and that was to tell his friend the one thing he had never dared to tell him. The one secret he had carried with him during the last years, the one thing that was of no consequence any longer as he was about to kick the bucket any moment. “Flak, there’s... I need... to tell...”  
“Stop talking.” Flak’s voice sounded strange, trembling and worried. “Red, do something. You’re a medic, so fucking do something!”

“Flak... listen...” His strength was rapidly waning. Shrapnel tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t.  
“Shrap... save your strength. Tell me whatever it is you wanna tell me when we’ve patched you together again. Hold on, man!”  
“Please...”  
“Hold on!” Flak’s voice rang with a strange, burning urgency. “Hold on, buddy! If you check out on me now I swear I’ll put a bullet in my conk and come after you to kill you again!”  
“I need a fucking stimpack!” Red’s voice sounded close to panic.  
“Ran out...” Shrapnel managed to choke out. “’s too late...”  
“Hold on!” Flak pressed Shrapnel’s head against his shoulder. “Check the Vault kid! Hold on!”   
Shrapnel tried to speak again, but his lips didn’t obey him anymore. It was over, so he simply let his head drop against Flak’s shoulder.  
“Shrap... don’t do that... Red!”

Red stood beside the mutilated corpse, hesitating for a second, when Susan pushed past her and grabbed the headless body by the shoulders to turn it. “Whatcha waiting for? Think he’ll get up and offer his shit to you?” She emitted an angry snort while she rummaged through the pockets. “Or are you afraid he’ll get up and bite you?” Having found a stimpack she tossed it to Red who caught it with an expression that suggested she might have been blushing if not for her dark skin. 

“A single stim isn’t doing any good here”, she said softly to Flak after injecting it. “He needs proper medical attention. If we were in my clinic...”  
“There’s a clinic here”, Flak interrupted her without taking his eyes of Shrapnel’s pale and waxy face. “Let’s go.”  
“But...” Red nervously wrung her hands as Flak got up, hoisting Shrapnel’s unconscious form up into his arms as he did so.  
“What?”  
“The... slavers?”  
Susan opened the door and snorted. “You think he’d made it this far and into the slave pens if there was one of the fuckers still alive out there?”

Flak pushed past her and headed for the clinic, stepping over corpses and pools of blood feeling a mix of admiration and anxiety overlaid by anger that he had made it this far only to be shot in the back by a kid.  
Walking next to him was Red who worriedly hovered over Shrapnel, checking his pulse and breathing, while Susan collected a few guns from the corpses they passed. After arming herself with an assault rifle she took the lead and opened the clinic door for Flak, pointing the gun directly into the room and at Cutter who dropped her small pistol when she saw the rifle pointing at her face.

Flak hurried over to the stretcher in the corner and placed Shrapnel down onto his belly as gently as he could before turning around. “Fucking do something!”  
Cutter rolled her shoulders and walked over, casting a short glance at Shrapnel’s bleeding wound. “He’s a goner, Flak. I can’t do magic.”  
With a growl that was part frustration, part anguish, Flak tore the rifle out of Susan’s hands and pointed it right at Cutter’s head. “I don’t fucking care what you can’t do! He’s still breathing, and if you don’t do what you can you won’t need no medical attention any more either!”

Cutter took a small step back and lifted both hands in a gesture of submission. “All right. No need for violence.” She turned around towards Shrapnel again. “I can’t make a promise, though.”  
Flak lowered the gun and took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, or rather, get it back. “I know”, he said in a dark voice. “Just... just try. He’s the best friend I ever had and...” he broke off with a shake of his head and took a step back when Red walked past him towards the cot. He fell into a chair in the other corner, staring blindly at his feet as the two medics began talking softly to each other. 

Susan silently stepped beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

For the second time in as many days Shrapnel found his consciousness return to him in a wave of pain. His head hurt like it was about to explode, and when he tried to move, his whole body felt as if someone had replaced his bones with glowing embers. He tried to open his eyes and couldn’t suppress a sharp hiss of pain when he found the light too bright to bear. It stung as if he was staring right into a spotlight.

He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back, steps coming closer, and felt a hand come to rest on his left upper arm. “Buddy?”  
“Flak?” His lips were dry and cracked and his voice hoarse and hardly audible. His throat was hurting as if he’d been screaming for hours.  
“Take it easy.” Flak’s voice was low. “Don’t know what the fuck you pumped into your body, but Red and Cutter sure had a fucking hard time to get it even partly out again.”  
“Buffout”, Shrapnel rasped.  
“Huh. I used to take that too once, but...”  
“Psycho.”  
“Together?”  
“Jet.”  
“You’re kidding me.”  
“And Men...Mentats.”  
Flak was silent for a while. “Anything else?”  
Shrapnel painfully cleared his dry and burning throat. “Nope.”

The fingers around his arms closed a little tighter. “No wonder the two couldn’t get your system flushed. But... why? Why? That cocktail can kill a deathclaw.”  
Shrapnel tried to open his eyes again, this time he succeeded for a few seconds, enough to focus on Flak’s face for a moment. Flak met his eyes, looking deeply worried.  
“I...” Shrapnel licked his lips. “I couldn’t... I couldn’t just leave you here. I didn’t... didn’t wanna give my best buddy up without... without a fight.” He closed his eyes again and felt Flak grab his hand, closing his fingers around the base of Shrapnel’s thumb. Shrapnel managed to return the gesture, but his fingers were still so weak he couldn’t grasp his friend’s hand properly.

“Buddy...” Flak’s voice was low and husky. “I don’t... Seriously, I owe you. I don’t know if I can ever...”  
“Shut up.” Shrapnel had to close his eyes again. “You’d have done the same for me.”  
“I would”, Flak said after a moment’s silence. “But... fucking hell.” He took a deep breath. “They could’ve collared you too.”  
“A risk I had to take.” Shrapnel managed the tiniest of smirks.  
Flak shook his head. “The fuck did you know where to look for me anyway?”  
“Remember that slave girl?” Shrapnel cleared his throat again, but talking became considerably easier when he didn’t try to do anything else. “Mei Wong? She happened to be there, but she was too afraid to raise alarm. She came to me instead.”  
“Fuck. Then I owe her one, too.”

Shrapnel managed some sort of shrug and after a moment, Flak let go of his hand. He lit himself a smoke, took a deep drag and exhaled a long cloud. “I’m gonna get Cutter”, he said then. “She told me they needed to wait until you woke up, to find out what you took so they could get you clean again.”  
“What about the fucking Vault kid?”  
Flak took another drag. “What about him? Or didn’t you realize he was dead?”  
“I... I didn’t, no. I can’t really remember much of what happened after I stumbled into that pen.”  
“Well. Sucker forgot one of the most important rules: if you turn your back on an enemy, make sure he’s really dead before you do.”  
A few fragments of memory trickled back into Shrapnel’s brain. “I still had the knife.”  
“Yeah. And you hamstrung him. When he fell I grabbed his gun and blew his face off.”  
“Good on you.”  
Flak tapped off his ash. “Fucker asked me could I give him a light, and when I did, he used some kind of stun gun on me. Next thing I knew I had a collar around my neck and was running for Falls. Couldn’t remember what had happened at first, but it eventually came back to me. Fuckstick.”  
“Well. He got what he deserved.”  
Flak emitted a soft snort under his breath.

After a long moment of silence, Shrapnel opened his eyes again; the light still hurt, but it wasn’t as violent a pain anymore, just a kind of burning. He found Flak stare down at him with a very thoughtful expression.  
“Never thought I’d get out of here alive and in one piece, buddy.” Flak shook his head. “I mean... I knew you’d probably go look for me, but only assuming you had a clue where to look.”  
“Bit of luck involved.”  
“Yeah.” Flak looked away again and took a last drag of his smoke before flicking the butt end away. “But honestly...” He crossed his arms and cast a look at his friend. “Kind of freaked me out when I thought you were about to check out on me.”

Shrapnel managed another shrug. “Seems I’m a lot harder to kill than I even I knew.”  
The left corner of Flak’s mouth moved a little upward. “Good on you.”  
Shrapnel closed his eyes again, he suddenly found the look Flak gave him hard to bear. 

After another long silence, Flak cleared his throat. “Say.”  
“Huh?”  
“What were you meaning to tell me? You ran out of time before you lost it.”  
Shrapnel licked his lips. He remembered it well, but was seriously tempted to pretend he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. Yet he had never lied to his friend before. He had left things unsaid, but he had never lied, so he decided he would tell him half the truth as he couldn’t’ stomach admitting what it really was about. Something like that could easily damage a friendship, even one like theirs, and there was no way to undo the damage of things said. “I... uh.”  
He heard the rustle of a pack of smokes and the flick of a lighter.   
“I feel a real chicken for not... what the fuck.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not... I’m not exactly straight, you know.”  
Flak took a deep drag of his smoke and chuckled. “What exactly is ‘not exactly straight’? I thought you’re either straight or gay.”

Shrapnel opened his eyes again and found Flak giving him a mildly amused look that he found rather encouraging. “Well... I kinda swing both ways, you know.”  
Flak exhaled a long cloud and nodded. “I’ve never seen you pick on a guy, though. Is it that you prefer cunts over dicks or is it...”  
Shrapnel closed his eyes again. “I... it’s not. There’s just... There’s just this one guy I met some years ago and I can’t get him outta my fucking head. So I’d rather have a girl scratch my itch than... you know...”  
Flak leaned over and patted his shoulder, obviously having noticed Shrapnel’s growing discomfort. “Here, buddy. ‘S not really my business anyway who you fuck with.”  
Shrapnel found he could smile a little. “Well. I... Beats me why I thought you’d...”  
Flak patted his shoulder again. “It’s all right, buddy. We both know a lot of guys who’d break your nose and spit into your face if you told them you’re not straight.”  
“Yeah, but I somehow have the feeling I should’ve known you’re not one of them.”  
Flak emitted a hoarse, low chuckle that made Shrapnel open his eyes again. “I don’t get the joke, man.”

Flak cocked one eyebrow as he took another drag of his smoke. “You ever saw me hit on a girl, buddy?”  
Shrapnel opened his mouth to answer and found none, staring dumbstruck up at his friend who shrugged.   
“You know, after all those years I thought you had figured that one out long since.”  
It took another long moment before Shrapnel found his speech back. “You know, buddy... I know I can be as thick as a short plank sometimes, but I feel like a rare knucklehead right now.”  
“Don’t”, Flak replied with a small, lopsided grin. “I didn’t exactly shout it from the rooftops.”  
“Yeah, but...”  
“Just forget it, Shrap. I assumed you knew even though we never spoke about it. You weren’t sure how I’d take it, and I don’t blame you. But even if I was straight _and_ homophobic I’d still owe you too much to give you shit, about this or anything else.”  
“Bullshit.”  
“No bullshit at all.”

It was out before Shrapnel’s brain had any chance of censoring or stopping it. “Hey, in that case, when we’re back home, you can give me a blowjob and we’re even.” He was mortified to hear those words come out of his mouth and the only thing he could do was to make it seem like a joke, but he still felt his stomach lurch when his friend replied: “It’s a deal, buddy.” Flak chuckled again as he tapped off his ash.   
They exchanged a look that turned into a grin and both of them chuckled; although Shrapnel had to admit to himself his heart wasn’t completely in it.

* * *

All four of them travelled to Big Town together, giving Red an escort home as she was the one with the least combat experience, a fact she was very grateful for. She thanked them both a lot of times before Flak, Shrapnel and Susan left for Megaton.  
They made their farewell from Susan after reaching the town; they had come to the decision it might be a good idea to go there together so she could travel with a caravan back to Tenpenny Tower. Even though she had exchanged her dress for a merc outfit scavenged from a dead slaver and had also scrounged a gun, travelling the Wasteland alone was still a dangerous undertaking.

“Thanks for the escort guys”, Susan said after lighting a smoke. Then she turned to Shrapnel and extended a hand. “Now I know you didn’t do this for me, but still, you have my thanks, mate.”   
Shrapnel took the hand and nodded.   
“I really wish I could return the favour in some way”, Susan said with a wink and Shrapnel let go of her hand with a soft snort and a grin.   
“Not necessary”, he said. “As you mentioned, I did this for my buddy.”  
“Extras included.” Then Susan smiled at Flak and nodded. “I know we weren’t always on the best of terms back then, so thanks for taking me along.”  
Flak lit himself a smoke as well. “No need to go back to that old shit, Sue. Have a safe journey.”  
“You ever pass Tenpenny Tower make sure to drop by”, she replied and brushed a few hairs behind her ear. “So long, guys.”

She headed for the gates of Megaton without looking back again and after Shrapnel had lit a smoke as well, the two of them made their way back to Rivet City, reaching the bridge shortly before nightfall. The marketplace was still open and to their surprise, most of the folks still around greeted them warmly and heartily. Gary even offered them dinner and drinks on the house.

“Seems like people are happy to have us back”, Flak remarked to Shrapnel as they headed for the washrooms to get rid of all the dust and grime from travelling the Wasteland.  
“Seems like”, the latter replied thoughtfully. “I had no clue we were so popular with the folks here.”  
“I think settling down here was the best decision I ever made”, Flak gave back. “Good old Rivet City.”

Heading for their cabin again after their shower they passed a group of girls, about sixteen, seventeen years old, who looked at their bare torsos and tried to hide a few giggles behind their hands. Shrapnel cast a quick glance over his shoulder at them and two of them blushed fiercely before they vanished giggling around a corner. With a shake of his head he draped his towel over his shoulders and lit a smoke, casting a glance at Flak who seemed completely oblivious of the encounter. 

After having reached their cabin Shrapnel threw his towel and the dirty shirt into a corner, arched his aching back and unbuckled his belt before unceremoniously kicking off his leather pants. “I’m done for”, he said and unsuccessfully tried to suppress a yawn before dropping down onto his cot. When he looked up, however, he found Flak look down on him under lowered eyelids. “What?”  
“I was wondering”, Flak said slowly.   
“’Bout what?”  
“If this would be the right time”, Flak replied and took a few steps towards him. “Being as we’re freshly showered and all.”  
Shrapnel felt his stomach lurch again. “What?”  
Flak chuckled under his breath and knelt down right in front of him. “What we talked about, back in Falls.”  
“What?”, Shrapnel said again, his voice the tiniest bit shaky. “That was a joke, man!”  
“No, it wasn’t.”  
“It fucking was for me!”  
“It fucking was no joke for me, buddy. A deal’s a deal.”  
Shrapnel stared down at the face of his friend, but Flak seemed more amused than anything else. “Stop that bullshit, Flak. Didn’t think you...”  
“No bullshit at all”, Flak interrupted him and pointedly lowered his eyes. “And don’t try to tell me...”  
“I know!” Since he was only wearing his boxers Shrapnel had no chance of denying certain facts, but he had no intention of caving in now only to regret it later. “Have you never been at odds with your fucking dick before?”  
“Lots of times”, Flak said. “But...”, here he looked up again. “I know what that Buffout shit can do to a man. Come on, buddy, I just wanna do you a favour, man.”

They both stared silently at each other for a while until Shrapnel shook his head. “There’s no way I won’t regret that later on”, he finally said, his voice ragged.   
Flak met his eyes and rested his hands on Shrapnel’s bare thighs. “Why? Is it about that guy? Think about him, if you like. Say his name if you want.” His voice was low and deep. “I meant it when I said I wanna do you a favour.”

Before Shrapnel had another chance to protest Flak had moved both hands inside his boxers, and his resistance quickly deteriorated. He let his head drop against the wall and closed his eyes when Flak dug him out and felt his heart race and his spine tingle at the sensation of Flak’s large and calloused hands closing around his balls and dick. Moments later he felt a breath of air brush his dick and then a hot wetness enclosing him. A moan escaped him he had no means to suppress.

A part of him was still mortified at the fact Flak was doing this, that he himself was doing this, or rather letting him do it, and another part of him wanted the sensation to last forever because he was sure there’d be no second time. He felt Flak’s tongue circle his bell end and unconsciously bucked into his mouth with a groan. It had been too long, he’d been on Buffout and this was too good. Simply too good to be true. “Flak...” he rasped. “It’s been... won’t last much longer.”  
Flak’s only reply was a low hum as he sucked him deeper in, and Shrapnel lost it at that. “Flak...” He heard himself whisper without being able to hold it back. “Flak...”  
He grabbed the back of Flak’s head and thrust even deeper in, two times, three, and with a low, heavy groan, he spent himself down Flak’s throat who sucked and swallowed and stroked his dick through his spasms until Shrapnel pulled back with a shudder.

When Shrapnel was thinking clearly again a few moments later he realised his hands were running over Flak’s head, and when he looked down he found Flak, head leaning against one of his thighs, look up at him with a thoughtful expression.  
“Shrap?”  
Shrapnel swallowed and licked his lips. “What?”  
“That guy, you know... I told you it was okay. But you weren’t thinking of him, were you? Or saying his name. Do... do I know him?”  
There was something in Flak’s eyes that made Shrapnel pause, and after a long moment of silence, he took a deep breath. “Why do you wanna know?”  
A small, crooked smile appeared on Flak’s lips for a split-second. “Maybe I like to torture myself.” Then he slowly got up and turned away, and Shrapnel needed a few moments to make sense of that last bit of information.   
He slowly got up as well and walked around his friend, kicking off his boxers as he did so, and ignored the fact that he was now completely naked while Flak was still wearing his leather pants.  
“Flak?”  
“Hm?” Flak looked up again and met Shrapnel’s eyes. There was a strange expression on his face.  
Shrapnel took a deep breath. “I was”, he finally said. “And I did.”

He could see Flak’s chest heave with every breath, could see his jaw work and his jugular vein begin to throb. They silently stared at each other for a moment before Flak moved, took a small step forward and closed his arms around Shrapnel’s shoulders. He lowered his head and pressed his face against Shrapnel’s neck, and as the latter closed his arms around him to run his hands up and down Flak’s back, Flak dug his teeth into Shrapnel’s skin and moved his lips up, past his ear. “You serious?”, he asked in a ragged, heavy whisper.  
“You think I’m making fun of you?”, Shrapnel replied and leaned back to look at Flak again.   
A small, lopsided smile appeared on Flak’s face and he shook his head. Then he leaned forward and closed his eyes. Moments later their lips met, and within seconds, they were breathing heavily, grinding their groins against each other while hungrily exploring each other with lips and tongues, letting their hands roam each other’s bodies.

Shrapnel’s hands found Flak’s belt and began to fumble with the buckle, and having succeeded in undoing it, he opened the zipper and shoved his hands into Flak’s pants, closing them around his rock-hard dick. Flak dug his groin into that touch with a grunt.  
They exchanged another breathless, hungry kiss before Flak tore himself out of Shrapnel’s arms and stepped back to kick off his trousers and boxers. Then he stepped around Shrapnel and, grinding his dick against the crack of his arse, closed his arms around his torso.  
“In a hurry?”, Shrapnel chuckled breathlessly.  
“No”, Flak replied and dug his teeth into the base of Shrapnel’s throat. “I’m not done yet with making you squeal.”  
“I don’t squeal, buddy.” Shrapnel muttered hoarsely, unsuccessfully trying to keep his eyes open.   
“Lemme see if I can’t make you”, Flak muttered against his skin and moved his hands across Shrapnel’s chest, teasing his nipples. “Kneel down.”

Following the tug of Flak’s arms closing around his own Shrapnel went down and knelt. Flak ran a tongue up between his shoulder blades, making him shudder, and dug his teeth into the base of his neck before pressing Shrapnel’s torso down. Then he cupped his buttocks and spread them apart.  
Shrapnel rested his head on his folded forearms with a small grunt of anticipation, expecting the touch of Flak’s hands, a finger maybe, or his dick, but not that. Not that hot breath again, not that sudden sensation of something small and hot and slick brushing his hole in a few feather-light strokes that made him shudder involuntarily. A series of small gasps escaped him at the touch of Flak’s tongue tickling that sensitive spot and he couldn’t deny that when Flak dug his tongue carefully a little deeper, those gasps turned into what might well have been squeals. Not that he cared at all anymore what sounds he emitted when Flak spread his buttock even further to eat him out.

Despite having come only a few minutes ago Shrapnel was hard and twitching again by the time Flak leaned back a little. He desperately pushed himself up onto one arm to close the other hand around his aching, throbbing dick and stroked himself, breathing heavily as he felt something else, something bigger and harder, brush against his hole. He let go of his dick for a moment and arched his back into Flak’s touch, meeting his thrust, and his own moan mixed with Flak’s deep, heavy grunt when he pushed into him, sheathing himself completely before pulling back a bit and thrusting back in. Shrapnel groped for his dick again but Flak took him by the shoulders and pulled him back, leaning back himself so he was kneeling, and pulled Shrapnel up so he was sitting on Flak’s lap.

Both men were breathing hard and ragged now, their breathing turning into rough moans and grunts as Flak began to move. Shrapnel threw his arms up and dug his fingers into Flak’s scalp while Flak dug his teeth into Shrapnel’s neck and moved his hands across and down his torso until he closed them around Shrapnel’s dick. With a small gasp, Shrapnel thrust into Flak’s hand, both men picking up speed now, their sounds becoming louder and more urgent.

A few more heavy thrusts and Flak had reached his point of no return, and seconds later he spent himself with a shudder and a low, drawn out moan. Shrapnel followed him a few moments later, and this time he lowered his head and watched himself come, his spunk spilling over Flak’s hands pumping him through his spasms. Then he closed his eyes again and dropped his head back against Flak’s shoulder.

They remained like that for a while, their breathing slowly calming down, before Shrapnel leaned forward and slowly pulled himself away. Behind him, Flak straightened up and shuffled back against the wall before reaching for his vest to hunt for his smokes after wiping his hand on his dirty shirt. By the time Shrapnel had managed to crawl over to his side he had lit one for himself and offered the pack to Shrapnel who took one, then leaned over the offered lighter with a murmur of thanks. 

They smoked in companionable silence for a while, their legs and torsos touching, before Flak draped an arm across Shrapnel’s shoulders.   
“Man, I sure could use a drink now”, the latter said after another drag.   
“Me too”, was the reply. “I’m not sure I can be bothered to get dressed and stumble down below decks, though.”  
Shrapnel shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “We could postpone the drinking”, he said slowly. “I could think of some other things I could do, as well.”  
“So”, Flak said after a long moment. “For example?”  
Shrapnel flicked his smoke away and straddled Flak’s lap in a quick move. Flak smiled up at him under lowered eyelids and slowly brought his smoke to his lips before flicking it away, too.


End file.
